Marcus Cato

Plutarch

Plutarch. Plutarch's Lives, Vol. II. Perrin, Bernadotte, translator. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd., 1914.

He also spent much time at Athens. And we are told that a certain speech of his is extant, which he addressed to the Athenian people in Greek, declaring that he admired the virtues of the ancient Athenians, and was glad to behold a city so beautiful and grand as theirs. But this is not true. On the contrary, he dealt with the Athenians through an interpreter. He could have spoken to them directly, but he always clung to his native ways, and mocked at those who were lost in admiration of anything that was Greek.

For instance, he poked fun at Postumius Albinus, who wrote a history in Greek, and asked the indulgence of his readers. Cato said they might have shown him indulgence had he undertaken his task in consequence of a compulsory vote of the Amphictyonic Assembly. Moreover, he says the Athenians were astonished at the speed and pungency of his discourse. For what he himself set forth with brevity, the interpreter would repeat to them at great length and with many words; and on the whole he thought the words of the Greeks were born on their lips, but those of the Romans in their hearts.

Now Antiochus had blocked up the narrow pass of Thermopylae with his army,[*](191 B.C.) adding trenches and walls to the natural defences of the place, and sat there, thinking that he had locked the war out of Greece. And the Romans did indeed despair utterly of forcing a direct passage. But Cato, calling to mind the famous compass and circuit of the pass which the Persians had once made, took a considerable force and set out under cover of darkness.

They climbed the heights, but their guide, who was a prisoner of war, lost the way, and wandered about in impracticable and precipitous places until he had filled the soldiers with dreadful dejection and fear. Cato, seeing their peril, bade the rest remain quietly where they were,

while he himself, with a certain Lucius Manlius, an expert mountain-climber, made his way along, with great toil and hazard, in the dense darkness of a moonless night, his vision much impeded and obscured by wild olive trees and rocky peaks, until at last they came upon a path. This, they thought, led down to the enemy’s camp. So they put marks and signs on some conspicuous cliffs which towered over Mount Callidromus,

and then made their way back again to the main body. This too they conducted to the marks and signs, struck into the path indicated by these, and started forward. But when they had gone on a little way, the path failed them, and a ravine yawned to receive them. Once more dejection and fear were rife. They did not know and could not see that they were right upon the enemy whom they sought. But presently gleams of daylight came, here and there a man thought he heard voices, and soon they actually saw a Greek outpost entrenched at the foot of the cliffs.